All The World's A Stage
by Cead
Summary: In a world surrounded by social facade, Hannibal may have just found the only woman worth finding out the truth about. Kind of fluffy to begin with. Hannibal/OC, Will/Alana, Will/Hannibal.
1. Chapter 1

**All The World's A Stage: Chapter One: Dark Cherries**

Hannibal was never much one for such parties, except when he was the one hosting them of course. After spending such an exquisite evening at _Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria, _he found it a sharp and bitter contrast to then be plunged head first back into the crude and superficial reality of his acquaintances. The characters of Monteverdi were made of honour: the women in his words were steel and the men iron; his companions for the evening were made of flimsier, weaker things whose façade of greatness was like cellophane in his eyes.

He spent a while speaking with them, immediately seeing through the lies of their fools' gold tans and botulinum cheeks to the lifeless soul beneath. The most irritable figure of this particular evening was undoubtedly Neil Pierce, the host for the evening's unpleasant festivities. He was a recent millionaire whose arrogance and boisterous laughter was incredulously unbearable. His laugh was one which suited someone more rotund than his toned figure and he seemed to wish everyone in the room to be invariably in his favour, despite his far too observable habit of slandering whichever politician, doctor, or businessman he had just tried so very hard to win over almost immediately after changing conversational partners. Yet inexplicably, no-one seemed to be able to speak unkindly of him. They saw his power and potential linked arm in arm with their own far too easily to judge him on account of his true nature. Which, of course, didn't help much.

After a time it became too much. He retired to the kitchen in claims of needing to find himself a glass of water for a feigned headache, even though there were more than enough waiters to fulfil his request. He retired to the kitchen and filled his glass from the tap. As he gazed out the window, he saw the curious outline of a figure at the bottom of the garden. Undoubtedly a woman's, Hannibal could just make out the champagne glass in her right hand. He opened the white-rimmed French doors and stepped out onto the immaculately kept lawn. The grass was dotted with fallen cherry blossoms from the trees circling the garden. The tiny pink petals were still falling through the air as he began walking towards her.

There was a small running burn before the woman's feet which she kept at a metre's distance. Her hands were pale and shaking, one tightly gripping the seam at the side of her green silk dress and the other, trembling, raising her glass to her lips. The diamonds on her wrist caught the faint light, shining against her skin. She looked up at the clouded sky with the look of an injured deer. He took a step closer and looked again. It was not fear or weakness he sensed, but an anger of sorts. There was a fire in her eyes - not a towering inferno, but a small seductive smoulder that he found extremely provocative. He watched the muscles of her back slide neatly into place as she shifted her weight before he announced his presence.

'Aren't you cold out here?' he asked politely. She turned to face him, surprised that she had not sensed his presence before. Her lips curled upwards slightly into a small grin which he then returned. Hannibal went and stood beside her.

'I needed some time alone,' she said, 'to clear my thoughts. I hope everyone doesn't think I'm being rude?'

'I haven't heard any complaints,' he assured her.

'I doubt you could,' she said, 'over the sound of my brother. He has an apt hand for business, but when it comes to controlling his own voice he is no better use than a child.'

At that moment, with almost comical timing, the sound of Neil Pierce's irritatingly loud laughter floated out of the open windows of the house and down to the side of the burn. Hannibal gave a small half-laugh, half-growl under his breath in reply, which soon faded into silence. They looked up at the sky together, searching for stars which were simply not visible.

'Would you like me to leave?' he offered. 'If you desire to be alone-'

She looked him up and down almost subconsciously. Her gaze on him was almost tangible. 'No, I don't think I do. One mustn't spend too much time without the company of others. Otherwise,' here she smiled, 'there is a grave fear of madness in the minds of those you have refused to speak with.' Her figure was hugged tightly by her dress, and he found himself biting his lip without even realising it.

'You fear people will think you are mad?' he asked, sympathetic listening in full flow. At this distance, he could smell her scent - dark cherries and the faintest suggestion of cinnamon. She sighed heavily, loosening an errant curl from her shoulder and letting it fall into the cascade of ember coloured waterfall that reached to the small of her back, which he found himself looking at quite fervently.

She spoke very quietly. 'Doesn't everyone?' She took a long draught from her glass, emptying it of the small dribble it had left. She suddenly turned to him with the expression of someone who had just realised they had forgotten their keys or something else of great importance. 'I just realised,' she said, 'that we haven't been properly introduced.' She extended her now steady hand. 'Rosalind Pierce.'

'Hannibal Lecter.' He took her hand, bowed slightly, and pressed his lips softly against her ring finger. When he straightened and looked up at her, he saw her cheeks had a slight colour in them now. He must have realised it when she looked into his eyes, because she floundered slightly to regain her composure and fumbled to change the subject. He saw her panic and let her off the hook. 'What did you think of the opera?' he asked. Calm and relief spread over her.

'I thought it was as good as Monteverdi would have wanted it to be,' she said smiling. They went on to discuss the opera in every intricate detail, and then others, laughing and joking with each other, not noticing that they grew closer and closer until before Hannibal knew it, Rosalind's head was on his shoulder.

If it was cold outside in that garden, he didn't feel it, because her touch warmed him to the core. Their hands were brushing against each other, hanging loosely by their sides. His heart told him to take her hand, but something stopped him. A thousand thoughts began rushing through his head at once, and it was becoming more and more difficult by the second to decipher them. What would happen if this went any further? On the one hand, it would be nice - no, _wonderful _- to not be alone. If there was one thing about his life that he hated more than anything, it was being alone. But on the other hand, what if she discovered his secrets? Then he would have to kill her. And then what? Would he dispose of her the way he disposed of his other victims? The very thought repelled him-

All at once, his thoughts disappeared as though a cloud had been lifted from his mind. He looked down. Her fingers were wrapped around his gently, with her thumb slowly running up and down the back of his hand. He felt her sigh and bury her head deeper into him. And then, the answer to all of his questions appeared in her eyes. He took his other hand and lifted her chin. She knew what was going to happen, and as he leaned in she closed her eyes and let him kiss her.

Each kiss is like diving into an ocean. Sometimes you can open your eyes and see nothing but dark murky waters, and others you can see great reefs full of colour and life. When they opened their eyes, they both saw the latter and yearned to discover more.


	2. Chapter 2

With the night this dark, the window which Will Graham stared out at was more like a wall than anything else. He gave up trying to see the outside world and retired slowly and wearily to the confines of his blankets. He lay his head on the pillow like someone would lay their head on a guillotine. He couldn't stop thinking about him. Even now he imagined that face looming over his own, Hannibal's lips almost touching his but not quite. Will's hands clutched the sides of his mattress as the memory of Lecter's scent washed over him.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of closing his eyes. There was a strange sense of relief when the phone in his dressing gown pocket began to glow and buzz.

* * *

They went back inside without another word. Rosalind opened the door and stood aside to let Hannibal past.

'Ladies first,' he purred. She nodded slightly and retreated back into the warmth of the kitchen, all too aware of his gaze upon her as she walked. He closed the door behind him. Rosalind felt as though he were shutting the door on what had happened outside. It was over now, that much she knew. She spun back around to speak to him, to thank him for his company, and to move on. She hadn't heard him move from the door, but when as soon as she was facing him, there was a flash of movement. His right hand was on the small of her back and pulling her towards him, and there she was suddenly with Hannibal leaning over her and his eyes fixing her solidly frozen to the spot. His left hand slowly ran up from the side of her chest, across her collarbone, and then up until his fingers were entangled in her hair with his hand holding her head barely a hair's breadth from his. Her breath caught in the bottom of her throat.

Hannibal waited. Rosalind cut the pause by lifting her own hands up and cupping his lined faces before raising herself up and threw her lips against his. To hell with it being over, to hell with appearances! There was Hannibal, there was Hannibal's sweet hot breath in her mouth, and Hannibal's hands upon her body-

And there was someone watching them. Hannibal pulled away first and took a step back. There was a look of shame, not presented in the usual blush, but in the way he bit his lip and eyed the floor. Rosalind turned to their unexpected visitor and saw her brother standing spellbound on the spot.

'Hello, Neil,' Rosalind said, smiling. The conversation that followed is long forgotten. It was uncomfortable, menial, and unimportant. What was important was Hannibal's striking silhouette slipping past them back into the crowds.

* * *

Jack Crawford leaned back against the edge of his desk and let Will do his thing. 'That's four unconnected murders all within the same area over the last four months,' he said. 'What are we thinking?'

'They're not unconnected.' Will brought a blanket of silence down over the room. He moved towards the photo-strewn cork board and continued, 'Each murder is the beginning of a new zodiac. Look - Perry King, February nineteenth. Pisces. Margaret Dern, March twenty-first. Aries. Kevin White, April twentieth. Taurus. Charlotte Cole, May twenty-first. Gemini. And then there's the style. It's an evolutionary process. See how they've taken the toxin used in the second murder and then concentrated down to the exact amount by the fourth? Every time they murder, they make a point of improving their technique.'

Jack shifted uncomfortably. 'You're sure this is the one person?'

'Positive.'

* * *

Hannibal looked back over his shoulder. Rosalind was deep in conversation with her friends and others. He watched her brush her hair back over her bare shoulders, remembering the feel of her body against his. Without even realising it, he was staring at her, and his bottom lip was dragging beneath his teeth.

Rosalind broke her eyes away for a moment and looked back for Hannibal in the ever-moving crowds. She caught a glimpse but nothing more. He looked as though he may have been looking her way, but she dismissed the thought as only wishful thinking.

Another hour passed like this, until eventually, it became too much. Hannibal had to give in. How any woman could build up so much desire in him from across the room was unimaginable, but it was real. There was a fire, a burning, flaming sensation throughout his entire body which flared as he moved slowly towards her. He didn't know what to say, but he ran his finger over the back of her hand and kept moving. Rosalind was ever so subtle about it. She nodded politely to her companions and excused herself, and then was caught up beside him in seconds.

'Where are we going?' she whispered under her breath.

'Somewhere a little quieter,' he said, 'where we can be alone.'

Rosalind scoffed softly, 'Well there's nowhere here we can-'

Hannibal pulled his car keys from his pocket and dangled them on the end of his finger. 'I know that,' he smiled. Rosalind's lips formed a small 'o', then pulled back into a knowing smirk. Her eyes began to glisten.

'Then I had better say my adieus,' she whispered.

The goodbyes were done as quickly as was polite to do so without any suspicion. Rosalind left first after an awkward exchange with her brother, Hannibal soon after. When he finally left through the front door, and the soft chill of the night was there to greet him, there was a great sigh that passed through his body. He waited.

A hand brushed against his shoulder as Rosalind emerged from the shadows and swung herself round to face him. 'I must say I'm rather looking forward to this,' she said.

'You and me both.'

The valet brought Hannibal's car around and gave him back his spare keys.

'This is yours?' Rosalind breathed. He nodded. 'I can honestly say that I would be quite willing to do this right here right now. It's gorgeous.' She walked around it, the look in her eyes unbearably sexy.

'That's a very interesting proposition,' he replied softly, with a purr he usually reserved for Will Graham. 'I may have to take you up on that.' Rosalind drew her lip back, titled her head slightly showing her neck, and then joined him inside. She threw her hair over to one side so that he could see the way her shoulders and her back moved as she pulled the door to.

'Onwards?'

* * *

Will walked back into the room to see Jack on the phone, silent, unanswered. He shifted uneasily when he saw Will.

'You don't need to call him for me,' he said, sitting down at the other side of the desk. 'I am perfectly capable of using my own cell phone.'

Jack slammed down the phone and threw his hands up. The frustration was showing in his face. 'I can't help it if I'm concerned, Will. You're hardly the perfect picture of health.'

Will walked past him and began looking at the wall again. 'I'm not a picture, Jack, I'm a human being,' he said absentmindedly. Latest murder - the intestines - the smaller tied in a masthead knot mat and the larger in a Turk's head. The feet pushed through the Turk's head, Turk's head connected to the masthead, the masthead connected to the light fitting. Hands tied to together behind the victim's back with rope made from their own hair.

'Well maybe it's time you realised that too and started taking care of yourself. You look like a walking slice of hell.'

'Your concern is touching, but I'm a little busy saving lives and finding murderers to be taking care of myself. Besides, you already have Doctor Lecter keeping tabs on me. What is there to be concerned about? Unless you think he is incapable of doing his job?'

'Of course I don't.'

Will ran his head through his hands, trying to create a picture of this new killer. He-no, she…was meticulous, but had great passion in her work. It was aggressive, flamboyant, but elegant. That profile fitted hundreds of women.

'I need to visit the crime scenes. I can't work from photographs.'

Jack gave up. 'You'd better get your coat then.'


End file.
